[CHAPTER XI]
ANTHONY MAKES A STATEMENT
The morning after Jack’s departure Anthony turned in through the little gate at Mrs. Dorlon’s and strode quickly up the short path. The time was but a quarter before eight. The sun was out, but was hidden behind a low-lying bank of mist, through which it glowed wanly. In the elms along the street the sparrows were chattering and scolding until one would have thought that every family circle was in the midst of domestic strife, possible because of overlate worms or underdone beetles. It was a tepid sort of morning; the bricks in the pavement were wet with the fog and the air was warm. Anthony wore his coat-collar turned up, not to protect his throat, but to hide the fact that there was no other collar beneath. In his hand he carried a can of condensed milk and a little paper bag of coffee. He had been upset by the events of the preceding day and had neglected to replenish his provision cupboard; hence a postprandial journey to Main Street.
As he climbed the stairs and caught sight of the half-opened door of Jack’s room, recollection of that youth returned to him and he sighed as he crossed the little hall and thrust his own door open. Then he stopped short and gave vent to an exclamation of surprise. The condensed milk dropped with a thud and rolled under the cot-bed. Jack, nodding drowsily in the rocker, opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. Then he grinned sheepishly.
“I—I’ve come back,” he muttered.
He partly extended his hand, thinking Anthony would take it. But the latter, after a moment of silent surprise, only said:
“Well! I’m glad to see you.” He crawled awkwardly under the cot and recovered the milk. “Changed your mind, eh?” he asked, as he emerged.
His voice was hearty enough, and he smiled behind his spectacles as though pleased, yet Jack felt a chill of disappointment and answered soberly: